User blog comment:Biggren/The Mice of Wintor/@comment-3135907-20120323215005/@comment-3135907-20120404214208

Biddil, suddenly swept from wealth to a dank, dark prison, wails like a mousebabe. "H-heeeelp!!! Heeelp meee! I'm dyin'!" A guard marks him with a spear. "Silence there, yew lout! Lemme git back ter my meal o' fish, `tater pie an' good damson wine, willyer," the stoat guard says accentuating the parts about food. "Ha," he adds. "A week from now yew won't know wot food is!"